


Fire.

by invective



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: (not that it was prevalent enough to need a tag??? but they're a sniper team here sO), M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Slash, Snipers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4801706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invective/pseuds/invective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon studies Illya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://armiehammcr.tumblr.com/post/126782275569/can-u-write-a-napollya-fanfic).
> 
> Takes place probably after Istanbul, but before the tv series, so they’re still ‘ getting to know each other ’. Also I’m not a sniper, so if anyone wants to correct me on this please do haha

Napoleon knows he’s a wonderful specimen of a human being. He’s handsome, charming. Nice and slick black hair, baby blue eyes, a strong jaw and chin and firm nose. Perfectly good genes to pass down to future generations, if he says so himself ( and he _does_. )

But then he looks to his right and there’s  _Peril_ , who just might have been genetically engineered to be one of the most beautiful creatures possible. Even in the dark, form covered by black fabric ( deliciously tight black fabric ), dirt speckling pale cheeks framed by high, sharp cheekbones, Illya looks very much like what Napoleon had dreamed perfection would look like.

Icy blue hues rest beneath furrowed brows as he gazes out toward the target. It’s hard to tell the truth of his height as he lays down, heels flat on the ground and his body parallel to his weapon. His jaw is pressed against the stock, arms just the correct balance between trigger-ready tense and recoil-ready loose. The muscles in his arm bulge as he adjusts his grip.

He knows that if Illya knew just what he was doing, instead of watching the movements of some South American warlord overseeing the entrance of weapons into his domain, he’d get a slap to the head and a sharp “Focus”. But the Russian is doing all the focusing for him, so he’d rather watch what was infinitely more interesting.

“Cowboy?” Illya whispers under his breath, never once glancing in Napoleon’s direction. “You’ve not said a word in three minutes. New record.”

Napoleon makes an annoyed noise and peers through the scope once more. “Two clicks to your left.”

“Two clicks,” his partner repeats, and adjusts his aim accordingly. The crown of his blond hair dips as he moves, glossy in the moonlight. For a gentleman thief with little self-control, Napoleon’s remarkably good at refraining from touching it. And it looks very soft. “There’s a breeze.”

 _So wait for it to pass_ , Napoleon almost says, but instead parrots an affirmative. “Half a click back right.

“And,” he says lowly, watching as Illya moves his jaw from the stock, lifting his head a few minute degrees. There is silence between them. Napoleon’s eyes follow the rise of Illya’s chest as he holds his breath to steady his aim.

They lock on his finger, belonging to big, thick hands that he’d seen tremble in rage more than once. As it rests on the trigger, taut, the American notes that it’s alarmingly still, precise. Almost as if the man who was barely able to control his temper, the man who caused over four thousand dollars of damages to a hotel room last Friday when Napoleon flippantly insulted his mother, was a statue made of marble.

Napoleon’s gaze travels back down and back up the Russian’s body. Not a single movement. Perfection incarnate. ( Perfection he wants to run his tongue over, covering every inch to see what makes this beautiful creature’s hips twitch and his voice drop to a low, husky growl. )

Napoleon feels his lips curl into a smirk as a smarmy line begins to formulate in his head. Illya’s head bows in preparation, a flicker of movement in his eyes that Napoleon almost misses, sent in his direction.

How  _interesting_.

Illya inhales again.

"Fire."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [ armiehammcr](http://armiehammcr.tumblr.com/).


End file.
